Used To Be
by SSBB.Swords
Summary: With a gun trained right between his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder, for just one second, how he was supposed to know he was sleeping with the crime syndicate's equivalent of royalty. [One-shot, mafia AU] –Yaoi, slash: Ike/Marth-


_**Author's Notes: **__I feel like it's about due time that I apologize for spamming this fandom with useless IkeMarth material. So, uhm, sorry 'bout that?_

_**Warnings: **__Yaoi, slash, shounen-ai, etc. Cursing. Implied drugs, sex, and booze (or at least one of the above). __Rated T__ for unicorns and rainbows. Does anyone really read these things? Un-beta'd._

_**Pairing(s): **__Prepare-yourself/Saseru-mono-ka, also known as Ike/Marth._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers, because if I did, you can bet there would be some junky hidden code that randomly creates unnecessary comebacks to taunts. "No, __**you**__ prepare yourself!"_

_**Summary: **__With a gun trained right between his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder, for just one second, how he was supposed to know he was sleeping with the crime syndicate's equivalent of royalty.__ [One-shot, mafia AU] –Yaoi, slash: Ike/Marth-_

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Used To Be

By SSBBSwords

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**6.**

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If this had been a movie, he would have at least gotten some sort of warning before shit went down. He currently was counting on two things to save him: some temporary interlude where the villain (1) gives an unraveling-the-plotline speech or (2) takes a sluggishly long pause to cock the gun.

The problem was that the villain was his boyfriend. Who just happened to be aiming a firearm at his face that apparently had no telltale clicking mechanism to boot. Then again, most guns nowadays didn't. Fucking media bullshit.

The expression on Marth's face was so impassive behind the weapon that it couldn't even have passed as arrogant or superior, which was saying a lot, given how aloof his boyfriend could be at times to strangers. Not that he was a goddamn stranger. He had just finished taking a shower—so what if he had left Marth to sleep off what he _thought_ was genuine fatigue—and okay, yes, this wasn't the ritziest place for a rendezvous, but _still_—

"Don't move," his (ex?-)boyfriend advised in such a flat tone that he had to wonder if he had really upset the guy or if Marth was sleep-walking. Could sleep-threatening spiral into sleep-killing?

He was so frozen mid-step that he was worried he was going to pass out soon from not breathing enough for such a high-stress situation. To make matters worse, the towel around his hips could fall off any minute now, but he didn't dare move a hand to secure it. This was probably also a terribly inappropriate time to note that his boyfriend must have rolled straight out of bed and into his boxers, if that was even possible. Most likely because Marth's briefs had been kicked somewhere beneath motel furniture last night.

Would his last words really be no words at all? He wanted to clear his throat, but who knew if that would be the signal for Marth to pull the trigger.

Where the hell had his boyfriend been packing that thing anyway? Why would Marth even _own _a handgun, much less _so frequently use it _that the guy was standing there in what looked like very proper shooting form.

All he could do now was watch Marth's mouth silently form one (or some?) unintelligible word before he closed his eyes to the mind-numbing, deafening sound of bullets being discharged at thousands of meters per second.

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**1.**

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If he had known back then what he knew now, he wouldn't have been so surprised that it was Marth who first approached him and not the other way around.

He didn't like to think there was a hierarchy among students (and arguably staff) at the private school, but anyone except for the truly oblivious could pick up on the subtle layers of power. He never stuck his nose in anyone else's business, but even he knew there had to be some significant influence that prevented such a pretty guy from falling victim to bullying. But that was school, and he was just one fish in a small pond, so he concluded that he would contend with the ocean when it came down to it, but not a moment sooner.

So when this guy, with a slender frame betraying nothing but calm authority and fluid perfection, strode straight up to him and evenly stated, "I like you," he was completely overcome with disbelief.

Marth waited for a response with arms crossed, a pose which depicted a surprising amount of impatience for such a simple action, and he immediately tried to correct his rude dumbfounded silence by babbling out, "O-oh, okay, uhm… want to go on a date?"

Much to his relief, Marth reacted beautifully to his suggestion and with a small (triumphant?) smile, the shorter student confirmed their new relationship status with an easy, "Yes," before pausing and thoughtfully adding as if never considering this idea before, "That sounds nice."

Now, he could see how this type of encounter would send some people running for the hills, but it wasn't like Marth was a particularly unkind or hateful person. The entire school just seemed to tiptoe around the guy for some reason, and therefore, no one had ever breached the social bubble of such a detached individual to claim otherwise.

Personally, he appreciated Marth's inexplicable audacity for someone with such a delicate-looking appearance. From afar, he had guessed the other to be shy and unassuming, maybe even closeted and one-dimensioned due to always being surrounded by the same two friends. He certainly was thrown when he realized the reserved exterior just barely concealed a very _expectant_ interior. He couldn't quite describe it. Marth didn't demand things so much as set the stage so that just one move would initiate a sequence that successfully achieved results.

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**2.**

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He probably wasn't as observant as he thought he was. The signs were present, but somehow he missed them _all._

The day that he met Link and Roy wasn't particularly memorable, but he clearly could tell he was being appraised. He was en route to meet up with Marth at a foreign restaurant when he slowed to a stop when he caught sight of a familiar redhead at the front of the establishment. Because they had never formally met, he introduced himself upon arrival, and Roy looked him up and down, rather unimpressed. With a nonchalant wave, the redhead gestured for him to enter, but remained outside.

Assuming Roy was waiting for other people, he entered the near empty restaurant and spied Marth at the bar with the last of the trio. Link seemed to have sensed his presence first and vacated the bar stool beside Marth only after bending slightly at the waist in order to whisper something into the other's ear. As the blond walked away, they met mid-room to exchange a handshake, before which Link's hands seemed to automatically seek his mid-section before the motion was retracted. Before he could ask about the strange twitch, the blond had disappeared around a dark corner. He realized belatedly the place was fucking _dim_ as hell.

While he took Link's previous seat, Marth leaned against the counter and smiled faintly up at him. "Hello." The smaller man studied his face thoroughly, seemed to find whatever it was satisfactory, and picked up the amber-filled glass to take a sip.

He was about to ask how in the world a teenager managed to get an order of alcohol filled in what seemed like a classy restaurant, but closed his mouth just as fast as he opened it. The question was about as stupid as asking why this entire establishment was a ghost town. Eerily empty.

"Would you like something?" Marth asked him with a deceptively innocent head-tilt.

"No," he heard himself answer, which was mildly alarming because since when did he have out-of-body experiences? "I… didn't know this place was open to the public."

"It's not," the other replied as matter-of-factly as one would say the sky was blue. "My family owns it."

"It's very nice," he tried to compliment, although it sounded rather hollow.

And there the conversation stalled.

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**3.**

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He thought he would never hear from Marth ever again. They didn't seem particularly compatible after all, which was quite a normal possibility when two people came together to get to know each other. Hell, sometimes Marth didn't even seem interested in him, which was just another way to say that he occasionally couldn't believe it was _Marth_ who had confessed.

But then there were these odd, out-of-the-blue moments when his misconceptions were proved oh-so-wrong.

For whatever the reason, when he felt exceptionally insecure and confused as to what in the world the two of them were even doing in a five-foot radius of each other when they didn't share a whole lot of anything in common, Marth managed to pick up on it and initiate something that would reassure him of whatever-the-hell they were.

"I'd better head out." He internally winced at his own words as he imagined them echoing in the silence of the house. He had learned later that it wasn't exactly designed to be a functioning restaurant but more a model of one with living quarters upstairs. He had once invited Marth over to his place as to keep the communication lines between them open, only to be politely declined.

"When do I see you next?" the other questioned ambivalently as they stood up simultaneously.

He did not know why he continued to be so surprised that Marth had somehow made this a routine question to ask. In all honesty, he still could not believe they were still seeing each other. Despite all his misgivings, he leaned down to kiss the other on the cheek. Apparently Marth wasn't the only one to develop some weird habits.

Having expected this coming, the shorter teen calculated the timing and angle perfectly so that he pecked the other lightly on the lips instead. A fond expression crossed Marth's face, whereas he took a step back with widened eyes. He hadn't meant to do that, but it obviously made all the difference. Marth never insisted that he disclose when they would next meet, but he always felt somewhat obligated in the heavy stillness.

This time, however, Marth reached across that very short distance to take his hand. "Soon?"

For once, he could whole-heartedly say _yes._

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**4.**

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He didn't even know Marth and the others were upperclassmen until he returned for another fall semester to realize they were gone.

Well, of course not _gone-_gone, but certainly not constrained by an academic schedule any longer. He felt a surge of gratitude that they always set a meeting before parting. A little strange, but the necessity had just made itself known.

Lounging on the other's mattress with a notebook in his lap, he glanced at Marth, who was poring over a spreadsheet full of numbers, and asked, "So you graduated."

The older teenager (or maybe not even) redirected only a smidgen of attention to listening and replied without even turning away from the computer, "Yes."

Knowing Marth would fall silent if not further prompted, he followed up his introductory statement with, "What will you do now?"

The sound of typing cut off abruptly, and the chair swiveled 120° in order to face him. A bit cautiously, Marth explained, "Same as I always have. Only now full-time," _as opposed to part-time_ went unsaid.

"Oh, right. Family business."

"Exactly," his boyfriend confirmed, looking pleased with his coming to his own conclusions.

"If I had known, I would have gotten you a present." Now that he had said it, he recalled that he had never actually gifted Marth with _anything_. Or vice versa, really. "Or something," he remedied. "I should do something for you."

There was an unnerving glint in the other's eyes, and when Marth pushed away from the desk and moved smoothly over to the bed, he was suddenly hit with a wave of worry that he was about to regret suggesting something so vague.

Tossing the notes haphazardly to the side, Marth straddled his hips and leaned forward to kiss him. There was nothing coy about it, and it would be silly to pretend otherwise. He, however, had to take a few seconds to process that this was really what his boyfriend wanted after basically offering the guy the world on a silver platter and _this_ was—okay, alright. Cool. Fine.

Marth's knees were snuggly pressed against his ribcage, and he had to feel his way up the other's legs because his mouth was really quite busy at the moment and there was no way he could do this blind—

Then Marth jerked back up, breaking their kissing with a damp-sounding gasp. Before confusion could fully settle, he was distracted by the other stripping. The shirt was thrown into his face, which was about as playful as he had ever seen Marth. As he pulled the cloth off his face, he heard a muffled _thud_ of an object hitting carpet.

"Wha—"

"Alarm clock. _Don't worry about it_," Marth replied in the most urgent voice he had ever heard, so he didn't.

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**5.**

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Then one day, out of unbridled curiosity, he blurted out, "What does this mean?"

He ran his fingers lightly over four characters プリンス tattooed along Marth's side in what looked like standard calligraphy.

After a pregnant pause and expression tense, Marth self-consciously pulled the sheet tangled around waist-height up so that it covered the ink just a few inches above.

"It means prince."

He wrapped an arm around his now-on-edge boyfriend above the sheet and pulled their bodies as close as he thought he could without alarming Marth. "Yeah?" He would have first thought the tattoo to be accidental, like one of those drunk-nights-gone-bad, but this was Marth and that seemed very unlikely, so he proceeded to say, "What's the significance?"

"It—ah, well…" The sentence trailed off. His boyfriend spoke in such measured, self-assured ways that this was certainly a funny sight to witness. Finally, Marth managed, "It's a childhood nickname."

"You grew up being called _prince_?" He couldn't help but think that this explained a lot of his boyfriend's uncommon personality traits.

"It's…" Marth's normally untroubled face turned a bit stormy, which may be attributed to the fact that he never had any substantial material to tease his boyfriend about. Maybe. "It's nothing serious," Marth muttered, maneuvering and ducking in such a way to tuck right between his jaw and collarbone.

Letting the other fit against him like a puzzle piece, he gave Marth a (hopefully) reassuring squeeze. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, he joked, "Well, as long as you aren't royalty gone rogue." He pressed his mouth against the top of his boyfriend's head. "What if your country decides to take me out because they think I'm an accomplice to your escape?"

Because Marth's lips were pressing against his collarbone, he could feel the other breathe out a small laugh. He would count that as a rare victory.

"But I'm not on the run," his boyfriend informed him, settling comfortably as if to nap away this conversation.

"You say that _now_, but I'm going to need a head start." He shifted so that he could gauge just how sleepy Marth was. Dropping his voice to a low whisper, he added, "You know, 'cause I'm slow."

"I know you are," Marth murmured in return, not even caring to speak with open eyes anymore. "It's endearing."

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**7.**

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He never suspected anything.

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_**-fin-**_


End file.
